


Little Tailor Shop Down The Way

by 1780AWintersBall



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/M, Hopefully this won't be too long, I just make stories up on the spot lol, I'll add as time goes on, Let's Go!, M/M, Revolutionary War times, Then a little but after, Washington puts up with a lot of crap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-01-29 06:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12625167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1780AWintersBall/pseuds/1780AWintersBall
Summary: Hercules Mulligan is the best tailor in New York, and thus, has the responsibility to get information from every single Redcoat and/or person that walks into his shop, being a loyal Sons of Liberty man. George Washington trusts him, Alexander Hamilton laughs with him, John Laurens confides in him, and Thomas Jefferson comes on secret visits to get the best tailoring service he could ever receive.





	1. Spying on the 'Inside'

Hercules Mulligan did anything it took to get information out of the Redcoats that visited his little tailor shop.

  As a spy for George Washington, that was his job. Get as much information as possible for as long as possible, until the client leaves. Redcoats had a surprising amount of money most of the time, at least compared to Mulligan and his friends, like Alexander Hamilton, and so would stay for the best tailoring job they could get, from the best tailor they could get.

  Mulligan didn't mind; in fact, he loved his job. Spying on people, he found, was exhilarating! Especially spying for Washington, a man of honour and decency.

  But, unfortunately, Mulligan seemed to have drawn the short straw, and always got the guarded, drawn Redcoats who just needed a patch-up here and there, in and out, done. So when, finally, a young, inexperienced Redcoat did decide to make the wrong decision and step foot into Mulligan’s tailor shop and offer him a position in the King’s army, well, how could Mulligan possibly refuse such a  _ kind  _ and  _ caring _ young man?

  “Yo, tailor!” cried the young Redcoat with a lot of entitlement from the front of the shop. “Someone ripped my coat and I need it fitted. Heard you were one of the best. So? How much for some good stitches?”

  Mulligan sighed, then made his way to the front of the shop, leaving his newly shipped box of smooth and exotic fabrics and threads from Europe where they were. He put on a facade of joy in seeing the customer, only now seeing the bright crimson of the young man’s clothing.This boy might not have much to disclose information-wise, but he’d be easy to pick for what little he knew.

  “Good day, fine sir!” greeted Mulligan, taking up a tape measure in his left hand. “What exactly do you need stitched up?”

  “Well,” started the Redcoat boy, “I need you to patch up this jacket, someone ripped it open at the seams.”

  “Oh, I think, being the best of the best,” Mulligan gave a wink, “that I can do you three times more than just a ‘patch up’, as you so delicately put it.”

  The Redcoat blushed a little, a smile on his face, then he said, “Yeah, yeah, I bet you could…”

  “Anything else, my good man, or is that all?” asked Mulligan, already starting to measure the bottom part of the Redcoat boy’s coat. “If there’s anything else, there’ll be an added cost, just so you know.”

  “O-oh, of course,” said the boy. “Well, if you want the money and want to impress me, I think I need a new sash, too, a couple fixes to my shoulder danglies, and maybe new boots.”

  “Now, sorry to disappoint, Mr.-”

  “John Smith.”

  “Mr. Smith, but I don't deal with boots,” said Mulligan with as much of an air of fake regret as he could put on. “If you want boots and shoes, you’ll have to go to old Mr. Cobbler’s, down the way.”

  Smith smiled with arrogance and humility all wrapped up into one. “Oh, that’s quite alright, tailor, just everything else will be fine. I was wondering, have you ever thought of moving up in life? You know, not be a tailor any more, be remembered by history?”

  Mulligan put on a show of thinking as he took Smith’s measurements around the rather large rip down his side. He sighed dramatically. “Can’t say I have, good sir, can’t say I really have. See, I like tailoring, been doing since I was a young boy, don’t really know any other form of work. Never fought in my life, you see.”

  The Redcoat seemed to eat Mulligan’s lies right up, and as Mulligan wrote down the impossible angles that the rip had been bent into, Smith seemed to pity the tailor’s ‘lack of self-interest’. He seemed ready to divulge all of the army’s secrets right then and there!

  “Awe, my poor man, you’ve never seen the glory of the battlefield, the intense jittery feeling of firing your weapon for the first time! You have to understand, you’re never bored or put on hold whilst in the King’s command in war times. There’s always something to do.”

  “Oh?” Mulligan hummed, feigning ignorance. He finally got down all of the odd obtuse and acute angles of the Redcoat’s coat, and straightened up to start work on a patch job as a stand-in for Mulligan’s real work. “And pray tell, what such activities have you been disposed to do, Mr. Smith?”

  It seemed, Mulligan mused, that John Smith was really just a way more happy and open version of Hamilton. Once Smith opened his mouth about his opinion on how amazing the British Army was, he would not shut up, and it was all Mulligan could do not to throw him to the curb with how much the young Redcoat distracted him from either of his jobs.

  After about a good two hours of stifling yawns and gags, Smith dropped the question right in the middle of an argument with himself.

  “Hey, tailor, since you’ve indulged me so, how would you like to join me in the British Army? I promise, you’d rise above the ranks of lowly tailors quicker than you could say ‘camp candlestick’! What’re your name, good sir?”

  Mulligan was taken aback for a second, then considered his options. If he said yes to get this boy off his back, who else that mattered would need to know? He obviously wasn’t going to go in and  _ now _ join the British Army, after serving the Patriots so loyally. Why not indulge this chattery man some more?

  “Mulligan, Hercules Mulligan. And would I now?” asked Mulligan in faux interest.

  Smith nodded his head very vigorously. “Yes, yes! And you wouldn’t have to be here in New York, either, you could get away from those Patriot scum! They’re gonna lose, anyways, what’s the point in fighting?”

_ The point in fighting is to take a stand, uproot snobby prats like you _ , thought Mulligan, though he did not voice his thoughts. Instead, he dutifully nodded, and said, “Couldn’t have said it like that myself.”

  Mulligan now stood up straight, his back cracking in places, and said, with a little bit more harsh a tone than was really necessary, “I’ll think about it, okay, Mr. Smith? Thank you for the offer. Now then, I’ve given you a stand-in patch job for now, come back here in about three weeks and I’ll have you a new uniform, perfectly fitted to your size and height. I promise, not even the castle tailors in St. James’s Palace can outdo my handywork. Now then, out you go, art takes time, and I’ve only just begun!”

  As the Redcoat finally left Mulligan’s small establishment, the tailor sighed. He was starting to get a headache, but he really needed the money if he wanted to actually eat for the next few days.

  Just as he was about to go and actually get started of Smith’s uniform, the door opened once again with a jingle of a happy bell to admit someone (Mulligan had found out that the bell to his little shop hadn’t rung when Smith came in because it had gotten caught on some of the hanging fabric, which he quickly fixed). Mulligan peaked around the corner that lead from the front of the shop to the back, and was surprised and glad to see France ambassador Thomas Jefferson hurrying into the tailor’s shop, looking very put upon.

  “Well, if it isn’t the Frenchiest man I know, besides Lafayette himself. Thomas Jefferson! What brought you to the very drastic measures of sneaking out of France just to see me, pray tell!” exclaimed Mulligan. His face split into a grin as he took in Jefferson’s disgruntled state.

  “The worst possible thing has warranted this visit!” lamented Jefferson dramatically, sprawling himself across Mulligan’s counter top near the cashier. He placed one arm across his forehead, then cried out, “Moths have gotten to my overcoats, and they’ve eaten holes straight through the silk! Oh, woe is me, how can I ever show myself with those dreadful holes! I can’t go out in public without an overcoat, but a motheaten one is even worse. Please, my dear Hercules, help a friend in his time of need!”

  Mulligan chuckled at Jefferson’s theatrics, then shooed him off the counter. “Okay, okay, princess, I understand. I think I’ve taken your measurements enough times now to rival your lovers with the intimacy at which I know your body, hey, Thomas?”

  Jefferson stood up tall, a smile across his fair features. “Yes, I suppose you would, my fine tailor friend. ‘Tis something one must forgo when one only has one reliable tailor, wouldn’t you say, Herc? And besides, it’s a fair price to pay, you’re the one doing all the work!”

  “Yes, that’s true. Now then, colours?”

  “Same as always, magenta, please.”

  “Very well,” compiled Mulligan, while he searched his shelves for the fabric. After not finding it where he thought it would be, he started to ramble a story to Jefferson. “You know, a friend of mine, who comes in often just looking for company, has said that your choice in colour is very poor. He says that anyone who wears magenta on a daily basis must be a prestigious prick. If it’s any consolation to you, he does not know how fantastic you really look in your chosen colour. Just thought I should point out, though, that he has been taking my fabrics and squirreling them away, so that I am thus forced to use substitutes. In the case that I cannot find your colour, dear friend, would you happen to have a second favourite colour?”

  Jefferson seemed offended at first, then started laughing. “Oh, Mulligan, your friend has no taste!” he crowed. “I must meet him and straighten him out!”

  “I’m afraid he’s a little far gone for that, Thomas,” muttered Mulligan to himself, thinking about Hamilton.

  “But, you’re in luck,” Thomas continued on. He apparently didn’t hear Mulligan mutter. “I do, in fact, have a second favourite colour.”

  “Oh?” asked Mulligan, actually surprised. “And what would that be?”

  “Blue, it’s the colour of my eyes,” said Jefferson with utmost conviction.

  “Oh, Thomas, you’re so vain, do you know that?” asked Mulligan, laughing in spite of himself. He had a hard time catching his breath. That was  _ such _ and Jefferson thing to say!

  The two of them laughed away the rest of their visit, at which point Jefferson baide Mulligan farewell, saying he’d return in a short while to pick up his clothing and visit with Mulligan some more. Mulligan looked forward to it, and for the rest of his day, which was just half of the afternoon and evening, he tended to the headache he now had going at full power.

  As he went to bed, he thought about what would happen in the next few days. Hamilton would probably show his face soon, he never left Mulligan hanging too long, and generally shortly after, John Laurens would come to have tea and discuss matters of personal and public importance. He’d probably get some good ratings throughout the lower parts of the British foot soldiers, seeing as how well he seemed to handle Mr. Smith, and thus would probably get some more young and inexperienced Redcoats coming through his doors. All the better to spy on!

  With all that info, he could run to Washington and deliver what he knew; they might be able to stop massacres before they even happened, who knew? And at the end of it, Mulligan knew, he just  _ knew _ , that the Patriots and Sons of Liberty would win this war, against all the odds stacked against them.

  Yeah, most days he loved his job.

 


	2. Chapter 2: Call Me Paranoid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton's paranoid and Mulligan calls him out on it, but not quiet in the right way, and a British officer becomes an issue.

Mulligan sat in the beautiful warmth of the sun surrounded by snow, his face freezing off. He had his head tilted up into the rays as he felt any and all worry leave his body. He felt happy, and he knew that no matter what, nothing could ever break this moment-

  “Yo HERCULES!” yelled a voice from his shop. Of course, he’d forgotten, Alexander Hamilton had planned to visit him today and bug him about the new uniforms for the Patriots.

  Fun.

  Mulligan sighed. He got up off the ground, away from the new evidence of winter in New York, and strolled into the back of his shop. Hamilton was practically vibrating, his ideas not being able to be contained for much longer.

  “Hello, Alexander, how do you do this fine autumn day?” asked Mulligan, Hamilton’s giddiness rubbing off on him.

  Hamilton scrunched up his nose. “If you call snow a ‘fine autumn day’, then you might want to re-evaluate what you consider ‘fine’.”

  Mulligan barked out a laugh. “If you think  _ this _ is cold, visit Ireland! Over there, a ‘little bit of snow’ is about six feet of snow! In the thick of winter, you’d be lucky to go outside with just two jackets on and no snow pants!”

  “Ugh, fine, you got me,” grouched Hamilton, then he smiled. “Besides, that’s not what I came to visit with you about.”

  “Oh, here it comes,” Mulligan sighed dramatically. Hamilton’s smile only grew.

  “Alright, but honestly, do I not look fabulous in the blue of the uniforms?” exclaimed Hamilton. “It's a little tight, but I can always lose a little bit of weight, and the buttons are awesome! I really love it, and the General has said that it looks dashing on all of his aide-de-camps, which includes me, so I must look great in it! What do you think, Herc, you think it’s okay? Does it bring out my hair? You know how much pride I put into making my hair somewhat presentable from the mess I wake up with, right?”

  Mulligan laughed. “Yes, I know. Though, honestly, I think you look better in black or emerald green. Almost anyone can pull off black, but when you put a bit of powder in that flaming head of yours, the green brings out your eyes. At least, that’s my opinion.”

  “And your opinion, when it comes to fashion, is the word of God,” praised Hamilton with a huge, goofy grin.

  “Awe, well, thanks Alexander. But honestly, though, did you come here just for that, or do you have business that needs doing?”

  Hamilton’s grin slipped a little, then he said, “Yeah, actually, I have a few things for you. The General needed me to pass on this message to you, since he can't just strut around New York without being shot down by Loyalists. Now that we’re getting way more attention, and now that we’re in the thick of a Revolution, he’s said that you shouldn't be coming to us anymore, and that we should relay messages for you. He doesn't want you to be discovered and gunned down, you know? Especially if it were in your same tailor shop. Okay?”

  Mulligan pondered this. A request from the General, George Washington, was almost always a big deal, because anything he did was with strategic ingenuity, since his fail when he was younger. If the General thought it was unsafe to pass messages manually, and to have others pass them on, it must have been serious. It could mean that Redcoats were starting to come in bigger numbers. It could mean that the Revolutionaries were falling behind, and that they needed to keep everyone they had left safe and behind the lines.

  Or it could mean that Hamilton’s message-passing skills were subpar, and he was overdramatizing things, being the paranoid, jumpy man he was. The answer was probably the last idea.

  “Alexander,” said Mulligan in an almost motherly tone, “are you being paranoid?”

  “What? No!” said Hamilton, seemingly offended. “Why would I be paranoid? No, that’s exactly what the General told me to tell you. Don’t go to places that could damage your reputation as a reliable and trustworthy tailor so that the British still come to you and give you information. Okay, Herc?”

  Mulligan waved a hand in the air, a smile dancing across his lips. “Of course, of course, Alex, I’ll be safe. Now then, anything that the General needed reported, yet, or-”

  Mulligan was cut off by his front door being slammed open. When he went around the corner to see what had opened his door so violently he found a Redcoat with a gun in his hands and a scowl on his face.

  “Are you Hercules Mulligan, tailor of this shop?” asked the Redcoat with a gruff voice.

  “Yes, that’s me, why do you ask?” Mulligan backed up at the sight of the gun, but didn’t retreat. He would always,  _ always _ , stand his ground.

  “I’m looking for a Mr. Alexander Hamilton, I’ve been told he frequents your shop. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, if he’s not here?” the Redcoat brought his gun up to Mulligan’s chest as the tailor frowned at the gun.

  “I have a strict customer privacy policy, sir, and I will not be bending it for a Redcoat threatening me with a gun,” said Mulligan cooly. “You’re going to need to give me a few good reasons as to why I should tell you, sir.”

  “I’m looking for him because he’s a known criminal, rebel and dangerous disgrace to the Thirteen Colonies,” said the Redcoat, equally as cooly. “He’s recently been spotted around this very area, stealing alcohol from the bars and food from the markets, and has even been found at one of the rallies down a couple a’ blocks, arguing why the revolts of the Colonies is completely defendable, which is a crime punishable by hanging. Not to mention the fact that he’s harmed or killed many a noble British soldier in the name of a false cause. If you don’t tell me where this man is, then I will be forced to shoot you on the spot by the charges of assisting a dangerous criminal and spreading the idea of revolution to your customers.”

  Mulligan sighed and was just about to push a remark about how that was hardly enough to go by when Hamilton stepped out from behind Mulligan and spread his arms wide, making himself a huge target.

  “Why, hello, there, John Burgoyne, how do you do?” cried Hamilton. “I’ve heard you guys have had it out for me! But, before you shoot,” Hamilton put a finger and pushed down on Burgoyne’s raising barrel, “let me just tell you something. You shouldn’t shoot me because that would cause outcry and uproar, making the fire and embers of this revolutionary was ever more powerful on the Patriots side, and because I’ve been offered a post as one of you Redcoats. How could I deny such a young and drunk man when he’s sitting right beside me, huh? Besides, I’ve been told many times that I’m unfaithful and traitorous, for whatever reason, so why not make their statements true!”

  Burgoyne rolled his eyes, then said, “I know you well enough to know that you wouldn’t abandon Washington, so stop with the belittling! You’re a disgrace to your country, and you should have been hanged the first time we saw you. It’s your time to pay for the ghastly deeds you’ve committed, and God’s choice of payment is with blood. Come quietly or I shoot you here in this fine tailor’s shop.”

  Hamilton’s eyes flashed with what Mulligan could only assume was pure hatred while he kept his boyish, joking face with complete resolve. Then, before Mulligan knew it, Hamilton had kicked Burgoyne in the stomach, sending him sprawling, and had him on the floor, Burgoyne’s gun forgotten for the time being. Hamilton followed the floor-bound Redcoat to where he landed, then continued to kick the man until he was bleeding from many wounds covering his body and Mulligan had to pull him off.

  Hamilton’s enraged screeches could have probably been heard from all down the street, and Mulligan was pretty sure that if he didn’t hide the angry aide-de-campe, he’d surely be shot on sight.

  “Don’t you  _ ever _ say that I’m a disgrace to my country, you pig-headed scoundrel! You know  _ nothing _ , you don’t have anything at all, you’re a pathetic excuse of an army man, I bet a  _ dog _ could do anything better than you! I’ve fought for what I believe in, I’ve worked my way up, I’ve done  _ everything _ within my power to take down men like  _ you _ and you’re cruel, Godless ways!” screamed Hamilton to the knocked out Redcoat, while Mulligan dragged him up the stairs to the tailor’s apartment over his shop.

  He put the angry, red-faced man in the bed, then covered his mouth. “What the heck do you think you’re doing?!” whisper-yelled Mulligan. “You can’t just kick up a Redcoat officer and expect to get away with it!”

  Hamilton licked Mulligan’s hand to get it off his face, to Mulligan’s immediate displeasure, then whisper-yelled back at him, “Watch me.”

  Hamilton tried to get up, but Mulligan held him down. “No, listen to me, Alexander, that man commands troops and British loyalty, and as you said, if it got out that, in  _ my _ shop, a British officer was brutally harmed and left to bleed on the floor, there would be no end to the questioning from the British I’d receive, never mind the mistrust. Wasn’t the whole point of you coming here for you to tell me, from General Washington himself, to be more safe? That the streets aren’t safe anymore for Son’s of Liberty men? Besides, I could get hanged because of you, and I’d rather like to see the end of this war. Got that, Alexander? I don’t want you to die, not now, not ever, okay?”

  Mulligan and Hamilton held a staring contest for a few seconds, both holding their breath, until Hamilton finally backed down. “Fine, whatever. I don’t want you to get lynched any more than you do, so fine. But what are you going to do about Burgoyne?”

  “Not me, Alexander, you,” said Mulligan fiercely, “you put him there on the floor, you can take him out and away. Take him hostage for Washington or leave him in a back alley, I don’t care, just as long as you get him out of my shop and clean up the blood. I also expect at least a bit of money for a rug to cover up the blood that’s already dried onto the wood flooring. Got that?”

  “But-”

  “No buts, or I tell General Washington about this. I know for a fact he’d have your hide for this.”

  “No one likes snitches,” grumbled Hamilton as he finally made his way out of the room to take care of Officer Burgoyne. Mulligan rolled his eyes.

  Hamilton was a hassle sometimes, but a lot of the time, his friendship was worth it. Speaking of which, Mulligan forgot about the dashing new suite he’d made Hamilton.

  It was an emerald green jacket that Mulligan knew Hamilton would love, and it was something he could wear to parties and dances and not look like he was an immediate target for British concern as soon as he walked into the door. Honestly, that man wore his uniform everywhere, it was a surprise that he hadn’t died yet.

  When Mulligan walked downstairs again, it was like nothing had even ever happened in his little tailoring shop. There was absolutely no blood on the floor, somehow, and Hamilton and Burgoyne were nowhere in sight. That was either a good thing, as Hamilton was getting the job done, or a bad thing, for he was alone with the British official. The poor man was in for a trip.

  He’d have to ask later how Hamilton knew that Loyalist’s name, but he didn’t need to know right that minute. What he did need to know was how to communicate with General Washington now that he wasn’t allowed to waltz right up to Revolutionary hubs. That was probably going to be easier, however, than finding out where Hamilton went with Burgoyne.

  After a few hours of nothing happening, Mulligan got bored of the zero action going on in his shop, and went back to his patch of happiness that was sun and snow. He’d interrogate Hamilton later, once he actually saw him again, and he’d be able to continue his spying. He’d probably actually have to start writing down what he discovered, though, if the people going back and forth took too long to relay messages.

  Mulligan sighed as he sunk into his happy spot. Enough had gone on that day that he had something to occupy his mind. For a while, Mulligan would be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for not updating sooner, I just hadn't been hit with that illusive 'Right Moment!' Anyways, see you soon, guys!


	3. Chapter 3; Winter Gusts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulligan meets Burr, and he worries about his little slave Cato.

As winter finally hit the little tailor shop, Mulligan started placing thick blankets around the windows and candles in every spot imaginable. Making sure that absolutely zero cold got in was hard, because winter was determined, but Mulligan found it was working, and his natural cold resistance from Ireland helped in making the shop look prepared for Christmas on the outside.

  While Mulligan was placing a full, beautiful wreath on his door, he noticed some blood in the snow. Unsure of what it could be, but very sure that it could damage the shop’s reputation, he glanced around, looking for a trail of blood.

  He found what he was looking for and followed it into the back alley, near the shop’s back entrance. It stopped just beside the bakery’s back door, and at the end of it was a very beaten up John Burgoyne. How hadn’t Mulligan noticed the dying man before? He looked up at Mulligan through two black eyes and a broken nose and whimpered, the pain practically radiating off him in waves. Mulligan first quietly scoffed, then sighed. Hamilton should have taken him someplace else, but of course,  _ no _ , that’s impossible for him.

  Bending down, Mulligan hooked his arms under Burgoyne’s armpits, then dragged him from the back of the bakery, eliciting yowls of pain, which Mulligan tried to shush. The Redcoat had had all the fight beaten out of him, and Mulligan thought it would be useless to give him back to the British Army. He already knew way too much anyways.

  Once Mulligan had finally dragged the bloody Redcoat into the back of the tailor shop, out of the view of anyone who would have been passing in the back and, more importantly, out of the view of customers, he placed Burgoyne down. There wasn’t much that Mulligan could do to him without violating his moral code, and decided that giving him to Washington might be the best bet, just to get him out of the shop.

  Just as he was about to go up to his quarters and get a pigeon to send to the Continental Army headquarters, the bell in his front shop rung, and footsteps were heard from the front.

  Mulligan stopped on the bottom step, Burgoyne far out of sight, then peaked around the corner, curiosity getting the better of him. In the door was none other than Hamilton, and a man that Mulligan didn’t recognize.

  Hamilton had a bit of a snarl on his face, and Mulligan could see, with his expert colour-picking eyes, that there was still a faint crimson painting Hamilton’s hands. He must have gotten chewed out by Washington because of that, though obviously not as harshly as the Commander would have chewed out others. Hamilton was Washington’s favourite, Mulligan reasoned, and he wasn’t about to let the man slip through his fingers.

  The second man seemed to be bored, as though he didn’t want to be where he was. He didn’t seem to be annoyed, or even discouraged, by Hamilton, however, so Mulligan pegged him as someone who was somewhat of a friend of Hamilton’s. He wore the same uniform as everyone else in line with Washington, though his looked more dirty, and he had short black hair, which was turning into an already receding hairline.

  “Good afternoon, Alexander,” said Mulligan with a pleasant smile, coming around the corner completely, “thank’s for the present in the back. I’ve moved it to my backroom, if you want to visit.”

  Hamilton gave a small sheepish grin, then moved inside without saying a word. Mulligan snorted at his friend’s antics. “What, not going to introduce me to your friend? I thought that introduction was just a common courtesy, but clearly I was mistaken.”

  Rolling his eyes, Hamilton went to the back room. He muttered something about continuing his little ‘talk’ with the Redcoat, then said, “If you want introductions, meet him yourself. I’m sure you’re fine with greeting people, and it’ll get him off my back for a few minutes, hopefully more.”

  Mulligan chuckled as Hamilton disappeared into his backroom. He looked back at the third man, and was met with a frown. He looked half confused and half worried, giving Mulligan a sceptical look.

  “Are you sure you’re okay with Hamilton just walking around the back of your shop like that?” he asked, looking like he was trying to move his lips as little as possible. “He can get up to a lot of mischief, and I wouldn’t want to be held responsible if he was to steal something of yours, or worse, damage one of these fine, expensive cloths.”

  Mulligan raised one eyebrow as he studied the other man in the room, looking him up and down. Then he responded, “You do know Hamilton comes here all the time, right? He’s one of my closer friends, though I’m still not completely sure if he considers us to be best buds. Hercules Mulligan, by the way. I’m the tailor of this shop. What do you go by?”

  Mulligan stuck out his hand, walking closer to the seemingly already-balding man. He straightened his posture somewhat, making him seem even more stiff than he already had, smiled slightly, then took Mulligan’s hand. “Ah, yes, of course. Aaron Burr, at your service, sir. I’ve been assigned to watch Hamilton for this week, though we have known each other for awhile.”

  Mulligan nodded and dropped their handshake as a crash issued from the back of his shop, making Burr jump. He glanced worriedly at the back, and Mulligan snorted in amusement. It was always funny to see who would be watching Hamilton on certain weeks, and how they reacted to his day-to-day life.

  “You’re gonna have to watch him closer than that, then, Mr. Burr,” chuckled Mulligan, “he has a way for getting far from his overseers. Tip number one: never let him out of your sight, or there will be hell to pay once you’ve followed the trail of blood!”

  There was a yelp from the backroom, and Hamilton came running out from around the corner, a limping Burgoyne right on his heals. The Redcoat must have had the fight beaten back into him, and he had a look of pure hatred on his face. Hamilton just squealed anytime the elder man came close, a manic grin on his face. If Mulligan had been in Burgoyne’s position, he would have surely turn tail and ran as soon as he’d seen that grin.

  Burr looked horrified as he saw Hamilton and Burgoyne, and immediately came between the bleeding Redcoat and the small, delighted immigrant. “Alexander Hamilton, what in the name of all that is holy do you think you’re doing?! This is exactly why Washington has made me your babysitter!”

  Hamilton’s grin turned into a scowl as he turned to see Burr holding a pistol to Burgoyne’s chest, signaling for him to calm down and do as he says. “Awe, Burr, you always take the fun out of things. I was going to tire him out, then hand him to Washington, is that really that much to ask?”

  “When you’re disrupting our best source of information on the whereabouts and plans of the British Army, yes, yes it is,” replied Burr coldly, as Burgoyne finally backed down, going to lean on the wall.

  Hamilton rolled his eyes, and Mulligan laughed. “Well, I guess I don’t have to send a letter out for someone to take this Redcoat from my shop, then, huh? You two have got it handled!”

  Burr chuckled, then walked back over to Hamilton, who was seemingly locked in a staring contest with Burgoyne. Mulligan, paying the two feuding men no mind, casually swaggered over to the cashier, then called to Burr, “Hey, by the way, did you want to buy anything, gentlemen? Or did you only come in to say hello to my not-so-high-ranking Redcoat pet? Because if so, I’m hurt! Also, have either of you two seen Cato lately? I sent him on a trip a couple moons ago, but he hasn’t returned.”

  Burr glanced around the shop, then said, “I wouldn’t mind a new undershirt, maybe with some softer fabrics inside, though I’m not exactly rolling in money. And no, sorry, Mr. Mulligan, I haven’t seen your slave lately. You might want to consider that he ran away.”

  Hamilton scoffed, then smiled. “Cato wouldn’t have run away, he’s not that type of boy. I’m sure he’s just being held up, we did have a storm the other day. And if that storm’s what you’re worried about, don’t be; Cato and people like him are tough, so long as you don’t abuse him.”

  “Says the rebel scum, all you do is abuse anything you touch,” Burgoyne spoke up, not kicking off the wall where he leaned. Hamilton’s head whipped around to the captive on the wall. Immediately Burgoyne’s eyes went wide, shuffling back along the wall a bit, while Burr grabbed onto Hamilton’s arm, and Mulligan moved between them.

  Hamilton immediately started fuming, spitting off insults and arguments to the man, while Mulligan mumbled to Burr, “Try not to let these two be seen by the public, they’ll start their own little riot. It might be easier to take the back way, you know where that is, I assume?”

  Burr nodded slightly. “Yes, of course. And thank you, Mr. Mulligan. How come you’re so patient with him?”

  Burr jerked his head towards Hamilton, who was now struggling against Burr’s grip, red in the face, still screaming obscenities at the Redcoat, who knew he had nowhere to run. Mulligan smiled a bit, then helped Burr with Hamilton.

  “Because he’s a good man at heart, knows what he wants and does what he needs to do to achieve his ends. He’s really quite the amazing man, he just lets his emotions get the better of him sometimes. Especially when it comes to someone he already hates.”

  Burr grinned slightly, then announced to Hamilton, “Alright, alright, we need to actually get this Redcoat to the General, remember? He needs to be alive so that Washington can bring judgement on him.”

  Hamilton finally started to calm down, and said, “But what if he’s not worth bringing to Washington? What if he sneaks out of our grasp, and we start to wish that we’d killed him when we got our chance, huh?”

  “I doubt that,” responded Burr, letting Hamilton go. “Now come on. Get him, we’ll leave out the back. Thank you for all you’ve done, Mr. Mulligan, and I’ll come back so you can get my measurements for that undershirt. Good day to you.”

  “And to you, my fine man,” said Mulligan with a smile. He was very,  _ very _ sure that that was the last he’d ever hear about John Burgoyne, and he hoped that Hamilton didn’t do anything  _ too _ harsh to the poor man.

  With a cold gust issuing from the back of the shop, the interesting trio of men who had tripped into Mulligan’s tailor shop were gone, and Mulligan let out a sigh. He leaned against the countertop, now suddenly worried about his little slave boy. What if Cato had gotten killed in the storm?  What if he’d been discovered and was now six feet under?

  Mulligan found himself drifting off, his worrisome thoughts tiring his mind, and was only snapped out of his stupor when the little shop bell rang once again. He looked up from where he’d been staring at the floor, and was treated for his small head movement.

  “Cato!”

  The small slave boy, Cato, jogged into the tailor shop, seemingly out of breath. He stopped just in front of the counter, then doubled over, putting his hands on his knees. His head bobbed while he panted, and Mulligan quickly went into the back, noticing the small, odd blood stain on the floor, to grab a chair.

  Once Cato was in the chair, he relaxed, then smiled up at Mulligan, who crouched down beside him. “You won’t believe the stuff those Redcoats were going on about! They’ve got this grand idea that the King’s just going to give mercy to us if we surrender, and that they’ll be risen to Dukedom after the war if the Brits win. They’re all just full of greed, the lot of ‘em!”

  Mulligan leaned an elbow on Cato’s chair arm, dropping his head to look down as he laughed. “Yeah, yeah, you wouldn’t be wrong there! A lot of them are only fighting because they think they’ll get a whole castle or something from the King. Speaking of the King, did you learn anything?”

  Cato thought for a second, then frowned. He shook his head slowly, the responded, “No, I don't think so… no, my trip was rather boring. I'm sorry, master, it was a hard trip, but I have nothing to show for it.”

  Mulligan was silent for a second, then smiled a kind smile. He knew Cato tried his best, he knew that it would be unfair to bring punishment upon him. “That's okay, Cato, I’ll get you something to eat, sound good? I bet you're starving.”

  Cato lit up. “Yes, I am, thank you! Do you have any planned appointments today? I could do those for you to make up!”

  Mulligan chuckled, then said, “Yeah, sure, why don't you start work on that Redcoat’s jacket, I haven't really started it yet. You’ll find the measurements in the counter drawer.”

  Cato smiled, then popped up from the chair to get his work done. Mulligan was always appreciated how readily Cato was willing to work. It was astounding how much he could get done in a day.

  With Cato busy, Mulligan went up to his apartment on top of the shop, and started to put together something for a stew. He knew that Cato would work even while he’s eating ( _ much like Hamilton _ , thought Mulligan), so he knew that the little slave boy wouldn't think much of it if Mulligan took a little while longer to complete lunch.

  It took a total of one whole hour to finish the stew, with all the dainty little extras, like herbs and such, that Jefferson had brought over from France every time he came to visit. The small kitchen, which actually took up both the top and bottom floor, because of the fireplace, smelled wonderful and full of warm delectables, though Mulligan was not quite sure if he got the recipe right. Usually Cato would make the meals.

  With a sigh, he brought the stew to Cato, who was right then sizing the right materials, and placed it beside his cloth on the desk he was working on. Cato gave a quiet ‘thank you’ I  response, immersed in his work, and Mulligan smiled.

  Hopefully, tomorrow wouldn't be as crazy as today.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got through this! Thank you for sticking with me, I'll be sure to write some more, hopefully I can get more chapters out soon, but until next time! I'll try and be relatively on the same schedule, we'll see!


	4. Chapter 4; Emergency Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulligan needs to send an extremely urgent message to Washington, and soon has Laurens in his shop. Soon after, Hamilton makes a quick, pop in appearance, and presents Mulligan a small give for the holidays.

Mulligan was working on Burr’s undershirt beside Cato, who was working on the Redcoat’s jacket, late one evening when suddenly the door was thrown open and a British officer marched into the small shop, looking very flustered and impatient.

  He ran over to the counter, then cried out, “Tailor! Tailor! I am in need of your services immediately!”

  Mulligan, who exchanged confused glances with Cato, jogged over to where the Redcoat stood, leaning heavily over the counter. He leaned over as well, then asked, “What do you need, sir? Why are you in such a rush?”

  “Oh, my good man, I’m glad you asked!” the officer smiled. “You wouldn’t believe! I need a watch coat very quickly because our troops have the perfect plan! On the ‘morrow, before another day, we'll have the rebel general in our hands! Truly, I need to look presentable to capture the scoundrel who’s leading people astray and away from the King’s righteous rule!”

  Mulligan perked up, leaned one elbow on the table, then stared at the Redcoat with a huge plastered grin. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cato peek out from the corner to the backroom, and give Mulligan a curious look. With his free hand, he snapped his fingers three times, and said, without looking away from the Redcoat or dropping his smile, “Cato, Cato! Can you send my, uh, fabric seller a message that we’re all out of  _ red _ silk? It’s of the utmost importance, and I think my dear client would agree. Would you do that for me?  _ Quickly? _ ”

  Cato, immediately catching onto Mulligan’s drift, nodded quick and jumped out of his sewing chair, rushing over to the door. “Of course, sir, I’ll be right back.  _ Red  _ silk, right? Got it, I’ll run straight there!”

  Mulligan nodded, still staring at the Redcoat, and only got busy taking his measurements and anything to keep him there as long as possible when he heard the door shut behind his little slave boy. The Redcoat seemed oblivious to the exchange between Cato and Mulligan, instead going to look at the many different fabrics that adorned the walls, as Mulligan occupied himself with calculating the measurements and writing them down.

  “So, sir,” Mulligan spoke up, wanting to try to keep the Redcoat happy, “do you have any other plans tonight? It is the holidays now, you know. You must have a wife and kids to celebrate with?”

  The Redcoat laughed, then said, ‘Yes, yes, once we’ve captured the rebel general, I’ll being going back to London to spend time with my family. You see, my wife is preparing a fine roast that I simply cannot miss.”

  “Of course, of course. Now, then , do you have a fabric for me to use for you, now? If you want your coat soon, you’re going to have to give me something to make it out of quickly, or we’ll run out of time, you know how these things go.”

  The Redcoat nodded, then promptly picked out a fine, red silk, a very expensive quality of which Mulligan only had a small amount of. Soon, Mulligan had fitted, sewn for, and sent away a Redcoat who was headed towards a failing mission. Cato soon came back, out of breath and worn, once again, though this time tailed by none other than John Laurens, who seemed equally out of breath.

  John and Cato took a breather just beside the door, John even going so far as to slump on the wall, before Cato jumped up again and said between pants, “I’ve informed a trusted Patriot who ran to tell Mr. Hamilton, who will of course tell Washington. Things should be able to be avoided, and nothing should go astray! That was quite the lucky catch, was it not, master?”

  Mulligan smiled, then replied, “Truly, it was. Thank you for being right on the ball as usual, Cato. I always know I can rely on you. Now then, Mr. Laurens, what can I do for you, my fine fellow? What caused you to follow my little sewing friend?”

  Laurens held up a finger, still trying to catch his breath, then finally said, “I… I thought… it would… would be… a g-good… idea to… to make sure… you were okay… whew! That was quite the jog! Cato can really run!”

  Mulligan smiled, proud of his slave boy, then said, “Yes, he can, I’ve seen him outrun Loyalists by the dozen, and escape unscathed. He’s quite the miracle, wouldn’t you agree, Laurens? Don’t know what I’d do without him.”

  Cato blushed, and made his way to the back of the shop, as Laurens and Mulligan chuckled, then Laurens said, “But honestly, the troops, myself Washington and Hamilton included, send you merry wishes. I hope you’ve had at least and okay evening so far, even if it has been exciting?”

  “Well, far better with you here!” cried Mulligan, going to sit behind the counter. “I’ve been quite bored recently, you know how these things go. I’m actually quite happy that Redcoat came in as he did, seeing as I had nothing else of pressing matters to attend to. But truthfully, Laurens, you should be getting home, it is long past the time that even the pickpockets have gone to bed. Don’t you think you should, too?”

  Laurens fiddled with his coat sleeves as he sighed, then said, “You’re quite right, but I wanted to come here because, well… I’ve been finding out that Alexander is becoming a lot more brash and forward, and I’m not sure if it’s good or bad. And don’t get me wrong, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with him, I just think, that, if he keeps up this trend, he’s going to end up down under, and I’d prefer if that didn’t happen, you know. He’s a… dear friend, I wouldn’t want to lose him.”

  Mulligan let out a breath of air, then said, “Yes, I know. That man is a force of nature, there’s nothing you can really do. If you want, I could probably get him to stop whatever master scheme he’s thinking up right now. He’s probably thinking of stealing the whole bloody British ship, seeing as he’s already stolen their cannons. You might want to also make sure he doesn’t get lost in a storm, as he’s apparently slipped through Mr. Aaron Burr’s grasp a couple of times, and with the gusts of winter coming in from who-knows-where, well… let’s just say he’s almost like a ghost when it comes to snow storms.”

  Laurens sighed, then said, “Ah, so you’ve met Burr, huh? Just an absolute bundle of joy, isn’t he? I truly think he derives complete and total pleasure from trying to make other people feel sorry or annoyed.”

  “You think?” asked Mulligan, putting his chin in his hand and watching Cato come back in, going over to start sorting though some of the fabrics and make sure they were where they were supposed to be.

  “I do!” exclaimed Laurens, making Cato jump, turn towards him, then go back to what he was doing. “He’s so… odd! He’ll be absolutely spastic and jumping at every chance to gain more power for himself in one moment, then putting everyone around him down for being greedy the next. He’ll mask insults in sugar then stab you in the back with a pitchfork. I find I don’t like him as much as most. Washington seems to trust him, however, so unless he’s shot and killed, we’re not getting rid of him anytime soon.”

  Mulligan laughed, then said, “Yes, it seems we have differing opinions. I found that Mr. Burr was quite charming, though maybe slightly emotionless. I have only met him once, though, so keep in mind that I don’t know him as well as any of you on the battlefield would.”

  Laurens huffed, then dropped his annoyance, going around the counter to Mulligan. After a second of hesitation, he hugged the tailor, then mumbled, “But seriously, Merry Christmas. You deserve it, Mr. Stitch, you’ve been cooped up in the shop for so long, bowing to the orders of Redcoats and traitors. I have no idea how you do it, but you have my respects and well-wishes.”

  Mulligan happily sighed, then returned the hug, only letting go when Laurens started to struggle with a laugh. Mulligan then thought of something. “You know, I should make you a sweater, how does that sound? I could give you something, and maybe get you to send over something to Alexander, assuming he doesn’t come around again anytime soon. Would you be up for that?”

  Laurens smiled, then quirked his eyebrows. “Well, you know me, Hercules, I have always worshipped your skill with the needle. If anyone could make me and Alexander something wonderful, it would be you, and I know for a fact that both of us would wear whatever you make us until the winter finally blows itself out.”

  “Right, then, that’s settled, I should get to it right now,” said Mulligan with a grin, side-stepping Laurens to go clear his sewing station. Cato gave him an odd look, as though saying their Redcoat clients would be none too pleased, but Mulligan tried his best at ignoring the look.

 Laurens glanced outside the window, then said, “Hey, I’ll see you around, okay, Herc? Thanks for hearing me out, you’re quite the man. Hopefully I can make it back to the encampment without getting killed out catching frostbite.”

  “Yes, goodluck, my fine friend, I’ll see you soon,” replied Mulligan, waving him out the door. Then he cried out behind Laurens, “Come in again soon to pick up your sweater! It’ll be ready within the week!”

  After a second, Laurens had left, making the soft ringing of the entrance bell the only sound in the shop. Cato quietly shuffled through fabrics, occasionally fixing the positioning or scratching down an undocumented price, and Mulligan felt content. This was his little tailor shop, and he loved it.

 

The next morning, Mulligan trudged down to his shop only to be almost startled out of his skin by Hamilton standing by the counter, tapping his fingers on his chin as he leaned over to get a better look as come pants.

  “Alexander!” cried Mulligan in shock, clutching his heart. It felt like it was going a mile an hour, and Mulligan was almost sure he was going to have a heart attack. “What are you doing here so early?!”

  Hamilton looked up casually, then smiled at Mulligan, as though it was normal to scare the owner of the shop he’d just broken into. Mulligan took note of the incredibly dark bags under his eyes, and shortly wondered if he’d gotten any sleep the night before.

  Hamilton waved lazily, then said, “Oh, hey Hercules, I didn’t want to wake you up. ‘M sorry if I did… I tried to be quiet. Washington’s been having us do late night raids lately, you know, in and out, done ‘n done, but I generally try and get my men to do more. Anyways, I got you somethin’…  I thought you might enjoy it!”

  “Alexander, you sound tired, you should probably go back to the camp and get some rest, or stay in my room,” said Mulligan, watching Hamilton with worry. Hamilton waved off his concerns, then shook his head.

   “No, no, I'll be fine. I've worked off of less sleep, it's… I'm going to be fine, I promise. In fact, I remember a time during the hurricane, I didn't sleep for a good two days, and then was forced to sleep by someone… I don't remember who. Anyways, that’s not what I came here to discuss!”

  “Yes, well, that’s what we’re going to discuss!” huffed Mulligan. He eyed his friend, then said, “Does Washington know you’re here? Because if not, I will personally escort you to him by your ear and tell him you haven’t slept at all for however long.”

  Hamilton frowned, then gave Mulligan a very annoyed face, looking accidentally adorable with his flaming, fiery hair. “Hercules, you wouldn’t. Come on, let me give you something, I was up for a while trying to finish it for you. I know you like sewing, and you also like little knick-knacks that you can put places, so for the holidays, I tried to make you a little… I don’t know what you’d call it, but it’s basically a tiny person.”

  Hamilton reached into his inside coat pocket, almost toppling over in the process, then presented a small fabric solder doll, complete with a small musket, clothing set, and sword attached to the hip. Mulligan couldn’t help but smile at the small doll, then remembered who was presenting it.

  “Did… did you make this, Alexander?” Mulligan asked, almost in awe. “For me? I… I’m flattered! It’s very cute. When did you find the time to do this, Alex? Haven’t you been saying that you’re very busy?”

  Hamilton smiled lazily, then shook his head, closing his eyes. “I spent nights on it, so that it would be done in time! Wanted to make you something, and that’s the best that I’ve ever done. I’m not much of a creator, I’m a writer, so I’m sorry, Herc, if it’s not as good as something you could have done… I… I tried my best.”

  With that, Hamilton, with his eyes still closed, collapsed to the ground, his legs having given out on him, and was asleep within seconds. Mulligan held up the doll, which Hamilton had dropped on the counter during his fall, and smiled. This was why he was friends with the hot-headed redhead. He was kind at times, and would do so much for those he cared about.

  Picking up the smaller man with an ease of practiced movements, Mulligan moved to his own bedroom upstairs, just as Cato came in with a tray of tea. He placed it on the bedside table, then said, “He’s stayed up for a long time again, hey? I think we should start restricting his access to the shop, don’t you?”

  Mulligan looked over at Cato with a small grin, then said, “Yes, but as soon as we do that, he’ll start breaking the windows to get in, and you and I both know how expensive those can be. You remember the cost when a dummy fell through the back window because it wasn’t standing properly?”

  Cato shivered, then nodded. “Yes, yes I do. I had to clean up the glass and do a side job to help you cover the costs. I’m sorry that I didn’t screw the bottom on properly, it was very stiff, and I was a lot weaker then.”

  “It’s alright, Cato, I’ve forgiven you since then,” said Mulligan with a sigh, patting his slave boy’s shoulder. He then said, “You know, Laurens and I have been thinking, and one of the things that came up is that after the war, we might help in an abolition movement. I could attempt to give you a free life, Cato! Would you appreciate that?”

  Cato smiled, and responded, “I heard you talking about that in the back, while I was shoveling the snow from our delivery path. Would you do that? I know so many men and boys who have way harsher conditions, and who need to be taken from their cruel masters. I even heard that where master Hamilton is from, the slaves there had little to no chance of survival, the conditions were so poor. So yes, I would appreciate that! I think that’s a brilliant idea!”

  “Well I’m glad you think so,” Mulligan said with a sigh and a smile. He ran his hand over his face, then said, “I would be a ton of work, and there would definitely be heck to pay, especially from the southern areas, but I think we could pull through. I can’t let you go yet, though, Cato, I still need you for so much, alright?”

  “Yes, of course! I don’t want to go yet, who knows what type of person I’d be given to next. I might be caught in the crossfire between the Brits and you guys, and I certainly do  _ not _ want that.”

  With a chuckle, Mulligan said, “Yes, I’d have to agree. Now come, let’s let Mr. Hamilton sleep, God knows he needs the rest with his normal sleeping schedule. We’ll wake him when we get a letter from Washington saying he’s gone ‘missing’ again.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for being patient, I know this is being put up after Christmas, but I still have a few holiday stuff to put in because of Christmas, so buckle in! Have a wonderful year, and happy holidays!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my little happy ficlet, I'm going to be doing it on the side. There won't be that many updates to it, nat as many as any of my others, but it'll still be something to work on, and I'll build up with Jefferson and Hamilton. The two of them will be talking with Mulligan about how to best handle their situations, but other than that... yeah. Anyways, hope you enjoy it just as much as you enjoy my other stories, and thank you for reading! Also, comments are always appreciated, I'll take any constructive criticism you can throw at me. Thank you!


End file.
